The Morgle Unmasked: Book 3 of The Redemption

By Clyde B Northrup

The chosen begin their search for the attacker of Shigmar, who holds Melbarth's Rod, in their effort to recover the rod. This search leads them deep into the swamp named Mariskal where they find the solitary monsters have banded together and begun to attack the areas nearest the Mariskal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clyde B Northrup
• Release date: Apr 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301065400

Clyde B Northrup

Who am I?–a question I often ask myself, without ever coming up with a satisfactory answer: am I just a husband, father, professor, scholar, writer, poet, or some combination that changes from moment to moment, depending on the day, and time of day. . . . Nah, not really–but it is an intriguing way to begin–kind of mysterious and tormented, with a hint of instability that promotes empathy in the reader, and lets all of you know that I am a professor of English, down to my bones, and I cannot help but play around with language. My areas of specialty are 19th-20th century British Literature, the novel, Tolkien & fantasy; my dissertation was on Tolkien’s 1939 lecture “On Fairy-stories” in which he created a framework, as I discovered, for the epic fantasy that I used to critique several modern/contemporary works of fantasy, including Tolkien’s. I have taught at the university level for 14 years. My wife, of 30+ years, is an elementary school teacher.As a poet, I am much like Wordsworth, while as a novelist, I am more like his pal Coleridge, both of which illustrate the influence of my education and areas of expertise. My poems are predominantly narrative in nature, reflecting, no doubt, the overwhelming impulse to tell a story, using the compact, compressed form of the poem to narrate significant moments in the daily life of the poet. As a novelist, my biggest influence is Tolkien, flowing out of my study of his ideas for what he called a “fairy-story” for adults, what we term epic fantasy.

Book preview

Author’s Preface

1The chosen have recovered the Staff of Shigmar, second of three keys, but the cost has been high: Shigmar was destroyed and the life-force of all inhabitants taken and stored in this second key, breath-giver; Klare has been violated, Klaybear unconscious under the weight of the many lives lost when he enacted breath-giver’s most terrible power; the seklesem won the battle against the morgle’s forces, fleeing the battlefield and taking the third key with him, but the seklesem lost their Fereghen, and return to Holvar with many fewer than when they set out. Delgart finally realized his dream of becoming a seklesi, proved himself a hero during the battle, but also revealed to the entire host the mark of Gar on his and Marilee’s faces, and this is where The Morgle Unmasked begins. Delgart, Marilee, and Tevvy travel south to Holvar, Tevvy continuing south to Rykelle to find information on Motodu’s (the morgle) whereabouts. Blakstar, with Thal, heads west to return and report his experiences to his order; Rokwolf, left to tend his unconscious brother & sister-in-law, haunts the ruins of Shigmar, wondering why he has been kicked-out of his order.

We remind our readers that more information is available on our website, http://clydebnorthrup.webs.com where we have posted maps, images, a dictionary, and a sample of Book 4, The Rod of Melbarth. We direct our readers there to find the latest information on our indie publishing life. We express our thanks to our initial readers for their valuable input, to our cover artist Sarah Cosico for the exquisite cover, and to all those who are willing to read our books; the greatest compliment you can give us is to share us with all of your friends–thank you and keep reading!

Clyde B. Northrup

April 2013

Prophecy of the Chosen

At the center of the ages come those chosen of the One, they who will end Gar’s dominion; two from my own order: one more powerful than all others, doubled of another; one who opens the forbidden way, sprung from my home; one from Karble, myth reborn, dear to the people, bearing the living waters; one from Melbarth, fire of logic burning in his mind; three from the new order, one king, one queen, mirroring each other, one aperu slayer, sacrifice for another; and the cunning mouse, who penetrates all secrets; all maimed and marked by the burden of their choosing.

Darkness and evil go with them, light guides them, rumor precedes them, destruction and disturbance follow them; choose to aid them to suffer, choose to oppose them to die. . . .

Prophecy of Shigmar

Prologue

Atno 3524, The Great Year, Early Spring

The Wesento tossed the sheaf of parchment onto his desk and rubbed his temples; he was tired of looking at reports that told him the same thing as every other report he had ever read since becoming the senior kortexi and taking up the mantle of Wesento. He looked hopefully toward the door and the immanent news of the arrival of the heads of the other orders for the Spring Council. He waited for several slow moments, staring at the door, before finally getting wearily to his feet to begin pacing the floor in front of his desk. Although ancient in years, by kortexi standards, the Wesento still stood straight, and still wore his shirt of golden rings, falling past his knees to the top of his shining white boots. He paced with a limp, his left hip stiff and sore from an old injury, but his tread was still firm and sure. Each time he turned, he paused and looked at the door, expecting the knock of his messenger at any moment. When after several turns about the office it did not come, he went to the window and looked out, thinking that perhaps his sense of time was off, that his boyish sense of anticipation was making the minutes drag. He held his hands clasped behind his back, fingers twitching as he looked out of the window, reminiscing on the many times he waited on his father’s farm for his grandparents’ immanent arrival, and how the waiting had driven him crazy, and he in turn had driven his mother crazy with his constant inquiries into where they were, and why they hadn’t arrived, to which his mother always gave the same answer: she didn’t know. He sighed and tried to calm himself; time dragged by, each second longer than the last.

Finally, the door to his office banged open, and the senior apprentice assigned as his messenger stumbled and fell into the room, his face flushed. The Wesento smiled to himself and shook his head before turning to his messenger, thinking he was not the only one upset by waiting.

You forgot to knock, the Wesento noted dryly, keeping his expression stern.

M-master! the messenger stuttered, trying to catch his breath, unable to speak his message.

You’ve come to tell me that our guests have finally arrived? the Wesento asked in his calmest voice.

N-no, m-master, the apprentice replied, "s-someone else–a k-kortexi none of the m-masters recognize!"

The Wesento frowned. Did he arrive on the telepad?

N-no m-master, he replied, h-he just appeared in the c-courtyard.

"Kortexem do not simply appear in the courtyard . . . ," the Wesento began and stopped when he saw the gatekeeper, Sir Wolsonto, leading the newcomer toward his open office door; the newcomer had immaculate golden armor and carried a white-plumed helmet under one arm; his hair was golden, shoulder length and wavy, and he was shorter and of lighter build than the bulkier gatekeeper. The newcomer looked too small and too young to be one of their order.

Sir Wolsonto inclined his head. Master, he began, "this is Sir Opnimon; he has satisfied me and requests a private audience with our Wesento."

The Wesento drew a sharp breath when he heard the name; it was the very last thing he expected to hear–the last thing his predecessor had told him right before he died: he told him the name and to defer to him as if he were Sir Karble reborn. The Wesento managed to control the quaver in his voice. Welcome, Sir Opnimon, he said, jerking his head as a signal to his gatekeeper, who grabbed the messenger by the arm and dragged him out of the office, closing the door as they left.

You recognize me, Sir Opnimon said without preamble, good, that will make things easier, and I have little time.

The Wesento turned from the door to regard the newcomer and looked directly into his laughing blue eyes; he wore a friendly, reassuring smile, making it easy for the Wesento to speak.

I only know the name, the Wesento replied. I was told to treat you as if you were our founder reborn.

Sir Opnimon nodded once. That will do, he noted, then hurried on. I am here concerning one of your apprentices, named Blakstar.

Yes, one of our more promising, the Wesento replied.

When is he scheduled to go to the Mountain?

This coming fall. . . .

Sir Opnimon began shaking his head before the Wesento could finish his sentence, causing him to break off. Events are rushing forward, Sir Opnimon said. He must go now, or all will be lost.

Now, my lord? the Wesento replied. There is instruction that he must receive before leaving. . . .

How much time? Sir Opnimon interrupted.

Two weeks, at least.

We don’t have that much time–you have five days to get him ready, Sir Opnimon replied with a tone of finality that brooked no argument, and one the Wesento understood.

Yes, my lord, he replied, inclining his head.

Go and make the arrangements, Sir Opnimon added, "then return with the Fereghen, but only the Fereghen–no others, not even his advisor. There are other plans that must be set in motion, other contingencies that we must make while there is still time."

The Wesento bowed stiffly and turned to go; Sir Opnimon stopped him.

One more thing, he added, do not tell anyone else that I am here; tell Wothgart only my name: he, like you, will understand what that means.

As you wish, my lord, the Wesento replied, then left the room.

Atno 3523, Early Spring

The air beneath Rykelle was thick and too warm for this early in the season; the day had been unseasonably warm, owing to the winds blowing from the south, off the Inner Sea. Two small figures, almost invisible, flitted from shadow to shadow, trying to evade members of the local Thieves’ Guild, who pursued them through the sewers. The first stopped the second, then stooped beneath one of the many large pipes that passed out of the walls and ceiling of the service access, turned and pushed open a panel. The second crawled into the small opening and the first followed, closing the panel behind him. They crawled in silence for a time, the small space beneath the pipe leading them into another small hallway, and this hallway had even more pipes running through it than the one they had left, but the hallway did not seem to go anywhere. They waited, motionless and silent, until they were both sure this new hallway was empty before pulling open the grate and dropping to the floor on silent, bare feet. The first, slightly larger than the second, led his companion to a small, out of the way corner of this second hallway, where they could huddle together out of sight of anyone who might stumble into it, but where they could watch in both directions.

Do you still think coming with me was a good idea? the first whispered into the ear of the second.

The second placed her arms around the neck of the first, then kissed him quietly; she laid her head gently on his shoulder. I can’t think of any place I’d rather be, she whispered, nor anyone else I’d rather be with.

The chest of the first puffed up with pride; he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to his side, then he returned her kiss. Although it was dark to most eyes, to their eyes the hallway glowed dimly with violet light, and they were clearly visible to each other. Their eyes met, and for a long while they simply stared into each other’s eyes; understanding grew slowly in the mind of the first, and with that understanding he noticed that he was now grinning stupidly. He shook his head and looked away down the hallway, but the action did not remove the wide, idiotic grin from his face. He tried stretching his mouth open, as if he were yawning, but this caused his female companion to laugh softly.

It took you long enough, she whispered, smiling up at him.

Her puzzling statement did not help him stop grinning. What do you mean? he whispered back.

She grinned in response, pulled his face toward hers, and kissed him more soundly than she had ever done before. He felt his knees weaken, and was glad he was sitting, and the grin on his face got wider and stupider when she released him.

I meant, she went on, fixing her eyes on his, her tone intense for a whisper, that it is about time you recognized how you felt about me; I was beginning to think that you would never come around, she added with a slight pout in her voice.

What? he hissed, slightly shocked. No, we . . . , I mean, I . . . , that is, they have kept us so busy, that I . . . , he tried to go on, but she stopped him with another kiss.

Don’t, she said, I was only teasing, she added with a mischievous smile. I was a little worried that you might . . . , since we will soon graduate . . . , you will leave, and you will forget about me. The pout returned to her eyes and lips, but she could hold this pose for only a moment before smiling again.

Absurd! he replied with mock anger. We were made for each other, he went on in a more serious voice, so how could I possibly forget you?

She looked up at him again, her eyes wide. Do you mean that? she asked, her voice barely audible.

He looked into her eyes for a long moment before he replied. Yes, you know I do. He noticed that the wide, silly grin was back on his face.

Her face mirrored his. I just wanted . . . , she began, but what she wanted, she never said, for both were distracted by an odd sound, like branches breaking or dry bones cracking, and both saw an archway of absolute blackness open in the hallway; out of this archway stepped two figures: one was taller, glowing brightly, and the second shorter, whose glow was not as bright as the first. The shorter, dimmer figure seemed to raise one of its arms; a ball of light, the same brightness as the figure, flew toward them, engulfed them, and snuffed-out all conscious thought.

"You handle the little potuka, the taller figure growled, and I’ll take care of this one, he gestured. I need only set things up so that, when the time is right, I can tie him directly to me, and through him, keep watch on the others."

The second figure said nothing; he nodded, which caused his large, bulbous head to sway behind him as he stretched out the rod over the awema and began to alter the patterns of her mind.

Atno 3523, Summer

The kortexi shone like a miniature, golden sun in the night sky, riding upon his white stallion, the golden chain mail he wore clinking musically as his stallion cantered across the stone bridge toward the granite dome known as Morokolu. The strange-looking, green-skinned monsters standing as sentries in ornamental sconces the entire length of the bridge shied away from the brilliance of the lone kortexi, whose glow chased away the shadows that hung heavy on the Mariskal although it was midday; the very presence of this figure of golden light pierced the hearts of these creatures with fear, a feeling that had become unknown to them. Many of the sentries threw down their weapons and hurled themselves over the parapet of the bridge and into the murky, slow-moving water of the swamp, risking encounters with the negumflum, whose name meant floating teeth of death, rather than facing the kortexi. The steel-shod hooves of the great white stallion echoed hollowly on the stone pavement of the bridge, further frightening the swamp wedaterem, who acted as sentries lining the bridge; the kortexi rode with his visor down, an ominous sign, short lance held in one hand, his long sword held in the other. The stallion’s reins were wrapped around the horn of his white leather saddle, and the shining figure guided his mount with his knees, but no one challenged him . . . yet; all were too surprised, or too frightened, by his sudden appearance to do more than stare at him as he rode past, marveling at his brashness.

As he came to the southern end of the bridge, he halted, facing what must have been an embassy from the fortress; one of them came forward, with his right hand held up, palm out.

"Kortexi, a harsh voice began, what do you here?"

I have come, he replied, after settling his lance in a socket next to his stirrup and raising his visor, to speak with your master.

Why?

"My business is for his ears alone, but I come on behalf of the Wesento."

A momentary silence followed the kortexi’s declaration broken suddenly by harsh, guttural laughter that echoed all around. The kortexi looked around and saw that the swamp wedaterem had come up behind him, blocking his escape; he looked up and saw that the huge cypress trees were filled with more of the creatures. Many of them started to move toward him.

And if your master, the kortexi added hastily, desires to hear my master’s message and you kill me, what will he do to you then? He left the question hanging in the echoing silence that followed.

The monsters closing on him stopped as the import of his words dawned on them; the wethi who had spoken motioned and barked a command; the creatures withdrew, grumbling.

Dismount and follow, the wethi commanded, "but if you try anything foolish, the wedaterem will have kortexi for lunch!" He turned on his heel and stalked toward the entrance to Morokolu, sending a messenger ahead. They stopped at one of the guard houses next to the bridge while the wethi issued orders to his underlings, which took much longer than it should have, since many of his underlings were also in fear of the kortexi’s shining presence. By the time they reached the gate, the morgle was already there waiting for him.

Welcome, Sir Fregren, the morgle spoke in a voice that hissed and bubbled, we have been expecting you.

The visor clapped shut; the sound echoed dully in the ramp cut into the ground that lead to the gate of Morokolu. How . . . expecting? he stuttered.

Yes, Motodu replied, "we invited you, although you might not remember the invitation. We do, however, have an important service that you can perform for us, a service for your master, he added, and into his sea-green, two-fingered hand slid a diamond-topped rod that he raised, the huge diamond glowing sickly green, but first, we must bend you to our will."

A ball of green light shot from the rod and smashed into the kortexi, snuffing out his golden glow even as it engulfed his figure and invaded his mind with a single thought: pain, pain beyond anything he had experienced or imagined. Every nerve screamed, and sound pierced his ears, or was that the sound of his own voice screaming in agony that he heard? And with that last thought, the pain wiped his mind clean, sending him into senseless oblivion.

Chapter 1

We have further discovered that it might be possible to attune the rod or staff to a particular individual or group, preventing the artifact of power from being seized by an enemy, even actively attacking the enemy who attempts to take it from its rightful holder. . . .

from Annals of Melbarth, Seventh Series, Early Lectures of the Hierarchs

Lecture by Sedra Melbarth

Atno 3524, The Great Year, Spring

Motodu was weary; the battle had drained him, using the rod had drained him, and he was more hungry than he had been for a long time. He rang the nearby gong, calling in one of his servants. One came almost immediately, her webbed feet slapping on the cold stone floor, and she bowed on one knee, her dark green, wet-looking hair brushing the floor as she placed her hands on the stone in front of her. She, like all the pleugle, had only two fat fingers on each of her webbed hands, with a short thumb beneath, green skin that looked oily, gills for breathing underwater on either side of her long neck. Her head and face were narrow and long, nose flat with narrow slits, eyes bulging out of the sides of her head, mouth that went all the way back to the tiny flapped holes that were her ears, with short tentacles covering her mouth.

Master, her voice hissed and bubbled, you have returned. What do you wish?

I hunger, Motodu said, his voice hissing and bubbling behind the long green tentacles that covered his mouth, the tentacles twitching convulsively.

At once, master, she hissed, bowing again then rising to go, her feet flapping across the floor.

Hurry, Motodu added. There isn’t much time. He sat down, fingering the diamond-topped rod he held clutched in his two-fingered right hand. He wondered how long it would be before the Great Lord learned of his failure, and the loss of the legions he had used to assault Shigmar, the city of the kailum. The power of Shigmar’s staff was phenomenal, and he had barely escaped the wave of destruction. What had happened to the company he had sent to capture the chosen who had both staff and sword? The last report he had received said that they were approaching the city, followed by silence, followed by the wave of power released by the staff, which meant that the chosen had somehow escaped and activated Shigmar’s staff. He needed time to think, but he was so weary from the battle, from controlling so many minds, that even with the power of the rod it had been extremely draining. He resisted the urge to ring the gong again as he knew his servants had to descend to the dungeon level of Morokolu to retrieve one of the prisoners. He focused on the rod, trying to draw more energy back into himself, but there were no reserves left, the huge diamond as dull gray and empty as the rod itself: he had drained the last reserves opening the archway to return to his fortress deep in the Mariskal, leaving his entire army to face the power of accursed Shigmar’s staff alone.

The door opened, and two pleugle servants forced a struggling wetha into the room, holding her by either arm. She looked up and saw Motodu moving toward her, and she screamed, thrashing around trying to escape. Motodu touched her with one of his fat fingers, and she stopped struggling, standing rigid between the pleugle servants, who released her and backed toward the door, bowing. Motodu circled behind her, grasping both her arms with his two-fingered hands. The wetha’s eyes were wild; Motodu’s tentacles, covering his mouth, moved and wrapped around the wetha’s head. Her eyes widened as the tentacles tightened around her head; she began to struggle again, opened her mouth to scream, but the scream trailed off, turning into an empty sigh, and her eyes went blank even as her body went limp. There was a crunching sound, followed by a squelchy, sucking sound, and the morgle released her. Her head slid out of the tentacles; her body slumped on the floor. The two servants came forward eagerly, grabbing the limp arms and dragging her from the room, her blood dripping onto the stone floor from a hole in the back of her head. A flat, lizard-like creature, about three feet long, scuttled across the floor, licking the blood from the stone and following the two servants out of the door.

Motodu went back to his desk and picked up the rod; harsh laughter came from behind him.

Stimulating, that, the voice laughed, although I would have used her before eating her brains.

Motodu turned quickly, holding up the rod, the diamond glowing with sickly green light. "I do not have your puri appetites, he hissed. What do you want, ponkolu?"

The winged fiend stepped forward, and the scent of burning sulfur and smoke filled the room. Motodu coughed once.

I’ve come to take you to the Great Lord, the ponkolu growled; "you should have come straight to him, once you had fled the battlefield, leaving all the Great Lord’s forces there to be destroyed by the accursed ones."

I do not think so, Motodu hissed in reply, sending a bolt of green power at the ponkolu.

The winged monster of Gar deflected the bolt, which smashed into one of the room’s walls, burning a hole through it. I was hoping you would say that, he grinned, showing his fangs. He shot a bolt of red flames at Motodu.

"Plotoskoit," the morgle hissed and surrounded himself with a shield of flowing water, quenching the flames with a bubbling and hissing of steam; the ponkolu continued to chant, pouring more energy into the flames that now engulfed the morgle. He laughed, thinking he had overcome the wielder of the Rod of Melbarth, when a storm of icy arrows flew out of the flames, ripping through the ponkolu, whose laughter suddenly changed into a scream of pain. Motodu moved out of the flames as they died, reaching out to touch the ponkolu, who went immediately rigid. Motodu moved behind him, the tentacles hanging from his face quivering with excitement as they wrapped themselves around the ponkolu’s horned head, whose eyes widened then went blank as his scream of pain changed into an empty sigh. There followed a crunching sound, then a squelchy sucking sound, and the limp body of the ponkolu slumped onto the floor. Motodu staggered back, his tentacles quivering, and all his nerves tingling with the power he had consumed. He turned and hammered on the gong.

Moments later, his female servant came in and saw the body of the ponkolu. Master, no! she screeched. What have you done? They are the Great Lord’s favorite pets!

Silence, Fatawssy! he hissed at her. Take the body below; make sure there is nothing left!

Yes, my master, she replied, bowing. I’ll see that everyone joins the feast. She called for the other two servants, who entered with the lizard-like creature following. They went to the body and dragged it out, the lizard-like creature again following and lapping up the smoking blood spilled on the stone floor.

Several hours passed in slow silence; Motodu waited, ready for what must follow. With an idle flick of the platinum rod, the diamond flashing with orange light, he repaired the freshly-burned hole in the wall, and he waited. Finally, he felt the room change, smelled the odor of burned sulfur and smoke, and saw a pair of ponkolum stepping out of the wall and into his room. Again, he shot a bolt of sickly green flames at them, but since there were two, one of them deflected the bolt while the other sent red flames at Motodu, who barely had time to raise his shield. Hissing and steam filled the room; the ponkolum both poured more power into the flames. Motodu felt his shield weakening as he felt his oily green skin dry and begin to burn. When his shield collapsed, he was surprised to find that the flames no longer surrounded him. He looked up, and felt a hand clamping around his neck; he was lifted struggling into the air.

You know what the price is for betrayal? a voice rumbled from behind him; bottles fell from the shelves around the room; the ponkolum grinned up at him, as they reeled back and forth, trying to keep their feet while the floor of the room shook. I might have forgiven your failure, but I cannot tolerate betrayal.

A hand reached from behind Motodu, catching the two-fingered hand gripping Melbarth’s rod. White light exploded from the diamond atop the rod; the hand trying to grab the rod was flung back. The last sound Motodu heard was a scream of pain and anger joined with the sound of crunching bones, followed by darkness and silence.

Thal sat up in bed suddenly, hearing again a strange humming, and he knew instantly the source of the sound. He swung his legs out of bed, grabbing his clay rod and whispering, "magluku." A globe of light blossomed from the end of the rod, and Thal saw that Blakstar had also sat up.

What? the kortexi said, then he realized what the sound that had awakened them both was, their eyes drawn to the glowing pommel stone of Blakstar’s sword, leaning against the wall next to the head of his bed. He reached out and grasped the hilt of his sword, drawing it from its sheath with a steely, hissing sound. Sickly green flames surrounded the blade, pulsing weirdly in the dim light. Then the green flames were lashed by red flames that engulfed the green for a moment, then the green flashed more brightly, extinguishing the red, and as suddenly as it started, the green flames winked out, the sword resuming its golden glow when held by one of the chosen. Blakstar looked up from the sword at Thal.

What was that? the kortexi asked.

Thal did not respond right away; instead, he reached out with his right hand and touched the hilt of the sword, shifting his awareness. He saw a thick green thread pointing behind him to where he knew Klaybear lay next to his wife, breath-giver lying beside them. Since they had heard no other sounds but the sword, he guessed that neither of the green kailum had noticed, both still in deep shock over what had happened to them. He saw the thin, white thread that he knew pointed directly to the rod, looking like it was directly south. He held up his rod, whispered, and the rod lifted off his hand and turned to point directly north: one point west of south, he thought. He sighed, dropped his right hand and gripped his rod with the left. "I’d say that the morgle, he noted softly, was attacked but managed to repel his attacker."

What were you doing when you touched the sword and with your rod?

Seeing where the rod was, Thal replied.

And? Blakstar asked.

One point west of south, Thal said.

Blakstar’s head turned automatically in that direction, looking at one wall of their room. Any idea how far?

Thal thought for a moment of the other times they had seen the threads connecting the three keys. "Farther than it was when we were in the tomb and the morgle was here, I’d guess."

We need a map, Blakstar said.

There is one among the scrolls left by the founders, Thal said, but much has changed in more than three thousand years. Thal thought for a moment. Wouldn’t Marilee, or Rokwolf, have a current map?

Probably, Blakstar said, sliding his sword back into its sheath and throwing his white and silver cloak around his shoulders; will-giver’s golden light winked out the moment he released the handle. He pushed open the door, Thal close behind him, and Thal saw Tevvy and the three seklesem sitting around the central table, talking quietly. They looked up, hearing the door open. Anyone have a map? Blakstar asked.

I have a small one, Tevvy offered, hands going to his pockets. After a moment, he pulled a folded parchment from inside his cloak. He unfolded it and flattened it on the table.

While Tevvy pulled out the map, Delgart asked, Why do you need a map, now?

We were awakened by the sword, Thal said, standing behind Blakstar and looking over his shoulder.

The three seklesem and Tevvy exchanged a glance.

How did it wake you? Rokwolf asked.

A humming sound, Thal went on, "then when he pulled out the sword, it was surrounded by green light, then the green was lashed by red, then the green extinguished the red and winked out. We think the morgle must have been attacked and repelled his attacker."

We have heard strange rumbling sounds from above, but no humming, Rokwolf said, his eyes traveling up to the ceiling.

Why do you need a map? Marilee asked, repeating Delgart’s question.

What is one point west of south from here? Blakstar asked.

Tevvy took out his dagger and laid it over his small map. Holvar, he said, the Mariskal, and Lufkor. How far away?

Thal looked over Tevvy’s shoulder. Farther than Holvar, I think, but I don’t think as far as Lufkor.

Isn’t there an ancient fortress in that swamp? Marilee asked, pointing to the map.

So legend says, Rokwolf noted, but as far as we know the only feature in that swamp is a round dome of granite, like a small hill, near the center of the Mariskal.

Morokolu, Tevvy nodded, the locals call it Morokolu.

Rokwolf nodded. "The story goes that the fortress was once the home of a kindly lord, who took care of his people; the swamp was not then a swamp, but rich farmland, and the people happy and well-protected by their lord. But the lord married late, so had a son in his old age, a son he indulged, allowing him to have everything he wanted. It was never enough for the boy, so he sought out others of the rising generation who, like him, wanted more than their idyllic life. It is said that they met a lady, who was a ponkola in disguise; she taught them many things, most of them evil. This group of young wethem enticed others to accompany them to these nighttime rituals, becoming either converts or victims of the sordid rites practiced by this ponkola and her followers. They were discovered by the kindly lord, who confronted his son; the son, of course, killed his father and took his place, killing those who refused to join them, replacing his father’s advisors with his own. His fortress became a center of evil, and the legend says that the evil was so great that the fortress itself began to sink into the ground. The great weight of evil, and the displeasure of the One, caused the whole area to sink; the sea rushed in, turning the once fertile farmland into a salty marsh. The sinking of the fortress left all the entrances under water and earth, preventing anyone from entering and discovering the great evil practiced there. He stopped and shook his head. I’m not sure I believe the legend–it is a story told by old seklesem to frighten the green members of their squad."

Don’t all legends contain a grain of truth? Marilee asked.

Thal nodded. That is the supposition, he said, although we have to understand that there is always another purpose behind the telling of the story in that way; in this particular case, I would bet that the story is told to young parents, to frighten them into being less indulgent with their children, or maybe to explain the errant behavior of rebellious youth.

There is wisdom in that approach, Marilee noted.

Tevvy shook his head. Not to break your reflections here, he said, interrupting, "but it sounds like a perfect place for the morgle to hide, close to the ocean, since his race comes from the sea."

Not precisely, Thal said, "remember that the morgle are corruptions by Gar of the wedorem."

True, Tevvy admitted, "and the purem are corruptions of your wethem ancestors, but my point was to get you back on task. Don’t we need to track down this morgle and retrieve the rod?"

Obviously, Thal said.

We cannot do anything, Delgart said, until my brother and sister-in-law recover.

"We have other work to perform, Marilee noted, that we will very soon need to return to."

Yes, mistress, Delgart smiled, and so I think we will take Tevvy with us on our return, leaving the rest of you here.

Blakstar shook his head. I must return to Karble and report what happened on the Mountain of Vision, delayed when I was sent north to help retrieve the staff.

Why Tevvy? Thal asked.

I can travel south and gather information, Tevvy said. My father might have more information on the area, since his school is in Rykelle, which is on the edge of the Mariskal.

Shouldn’t one of us go with you? Blakstar asked skeptically.

To keep an eye on me? Tevvy replied, anger rising.

"Someone should, thief," Blakstar spat back at him.

Enough! Delgart exclaimed, slapping his hand on the table. You two need to put your prejudices aside: we have work to perform.

Thal cleared his throat. I need to return to my . . . , he started to say, a stab of pain causing him to stutter, then went on, "my tower and enter the geuskeldu there, in order to advance. Also, my parents may have left information for us, to help us with our work."

Delgart nodded, then thought for a moment. I think that Blakstar and Thal should travel to Karble, and then Thal’s tower. Tevvy can travel with us back to Holvar, then on to his father in Rykelle. He turned to look at each of them in turn, then looked at his younger brother with a wry smile. That leaves you, Rokwolf, to stay here with Klare and Klaybear. He held his eye for a moment until Rokwolf shrugged and looked down. The only problem I see is with communication.

Both Thal and Tevvy shook their heads.

That is no problem, Thal noted, we learned that with the keys we can communicate by opening a small archway to whomever we want to communicate with.

Tevvy does not have a key, Delgart noted.

Nor is that a problem, Tevvy said. "We can also signal each other through our verghrenum, he went on, holding up one arm. We can set up a time each night when we will check our verghrenum: when I have information to communicate, I can signal either Thal or Klaybear, who can then open the small archway to me, that way I can share whatever I find."

What if my twin brother does not wake before you have information to share? Rokwolf asked.

Tevvy thought for a moment. I could contact you, instead.

How will I know? Rokwolf asked.

I’ll show you, Tevvy said, raising his arm and preparing to touch the proper symbol on his verghrenum. Just wait a moment, and you’ll understand, Tevvy instructed, then he touched the symbol and said, Rokwolf.

Immediately, Rokwolf’s eyes widened. Can I do that?

Tevvy shrugged. I guess, although no one else has tried.

Rokwolf looked down at his verghrenum, then touched the symbol for the klitodweri, then said his name.

Tevvy nodded. Yes, it seems to work.

How will you return? Delgart asked.

I can contact Klaybear or Rokwolf, Tevvy said, either one can bring me back here.

Delgart’s brow wrinkled. I think we need to be very careful about whom we talk to or share information with. Remember what happened here a few days ago, and that some of us are under the sentence of death.

From what we saw above, Thal noted, I doubt there is anyone alive who will remember that sentence.

It was unjust, the kortexi said.

Nevertheless, Delgart said, word of what has happened here, and who is responsible, will travel faster than we will. We must be very, very cautious.

Thal nodded. Shigmar said as much, he said, then went on to explain what they had seen when the staff and sword were inserted into the altar of Shigmar’s tomb.

We must enter the city above and look for survivors, Delgart said, before we go anywhere.

Yes, Marilee said. When Rellik returns with our squad, we will be doing exactly that.

I don’t think we should share the knowledge, or the location, of this sanctuary with our squad, Delgart said to Marilee.

Marilee nodded. That is why I said we would meet them at the gate. Then we can enter the city through one of the sewer grates, or the main sewer entrance.

I can show you where that is, Tevvy added.

Marilee nodded.

Several hours later, Thal and Blakstar were awakened again by the sword; the kortexi pulled out his sword and held it up, green flames touched the edges of the blade, then red flames lashed at the green, and soon extinguished the green. Thal opened his mouth to speak, but as he did, white light erupted from the sword, causing both to squint, and the white light consumed the red, winking out as suddenly as it appeared, plunging them into golden silence. For a moment, both of them sat silent and still, then Thal reached out, as before, and saw the white thread going in the same direction.

What does it mean? Blakstar asked.

I don’t know, Thal replied, "maybe the rod itself lashed out at both the morgle and whoever attacked him."

Right at the point where the green, Blakstar said, appeared to have been overcome by the red.

Thal sighed and sank back into bed. Blakstar returned the sword to its sheath, plunging them into darkness, and lay down. Moments later, his breathing slowed and Thal could tell he had fallen asleep for the third time that night. Thal continued to think and wonder about what had happened to the morgle holding the rod. He had survived the first encounter, but what about the second? If he had been operating, as Thal believed he was, under orders from Gar, Thal wondered what the price of failure was to Gar: is that why the morgle was attacked? Agents of Gar, or Gar himself, come to punish him for his failure? And what had happened at the end, when the white light consumed the red and green flames? Who had won? Or did some other power intervene? These questions continued to trouble Thal’s mind as the white maghi fell into a fitful slumber, red and green flames, and brilliant white light, flashing across the surface of his troubled thoughts, punctuated by a rumbling sound as enigmatic as the lights.

We cannot go up this way, Tevvy said, the stairway is blocked by rubble. They were looking at the stairs where the two city guards had entered the sewers. Marilee, Delgart, Rokwolf, and Blakstar, along with the kailu, Grelsor, and the maghi, Luthina, from Marilee’s squad, stood behind Tevvy. All had their faces covered with cloths, not because of the smell of the sewers beneath Shigmar, but because the air was choked with dust. Tevvy reached out to touch the bars of the iron door, and the door crumbled at his touch, raising more dust in the passageway. The group was surprised to find, when they reached the bridge to meet up with the rest of the squad, that the sewers were empty of water, and Rellik reported that water was no longer falling outside. The reason why no water flowed was easy to see, as all the passages, including the river, were blocked by rubble, as if the entire ceiling had collapsed. Only the passage that ran past the entrance to their sanctuary was open, and only to a point a few yards past the entrance.

You could send someone to check the dungeon entrance, Tevvy said, see if they managed to clear the section that collapsed: we could enter the school that way.

Where is it? Rellik asked.

About fifty yards east, Tevvy replied, a ladder on the right side.

Marilee nodded to Rellik. Take two others and go up into the school dungeon. Rellik nodded and pointed to Grelsor and Reena, who followed him east.

There is still the grate I used to enter the sewers the first time, Tevvy said, at the west end of this passage. It is near Klaybear and Klare’s home, in the southwest quarter of Shigmar.

We can go there after Rellik returns, Marilee said. Delgart, why don’t you go with Tevvy, Rokwolf, and Blakstar, and take Lidelle, Hrelga, and Kreega, and go check the grate. Wait for us there.

Tevvy and Delgart nodded, moving west with the others.

They found the ladder; Tevvy climbed up and picked the lock in less than a minute. He waited silently at the top of the ladder, listening for any sounds from above. After a few minutes, he climbed back down.

I can hear more rumbling sounds from above . . . , Tevvy said.

We can hear them down here, Blakstar interrupted.

Yes, of course you can, Tevvy replied, trying to keep his voice level, but I hear no sounds of people moving around.

It is still very early in the morning, Blakstar said.

True, Lidelle noted, but this is the quarter of the city where most of the students who live outside the school are housed; many of them have duties that should have them heading from their homes to the school by this time.

If any still live, Tevvy said.

I saw what it did to anyone who it touched, Blakstar noted.

So did we, Lidelle put in, "we saw our fellows from other squads, along with the purem and ghelem that were in the sewers, literally consumed by the wave. And you say it was caused by Shigmar’s staff? Not the staff of his office, surely."

No, Blakstar said, it was a staff he made after leaving the school, one that was hidden with him in his tomb.

"It is called, ‘breath-giver,’ or the staff of life," Tevvy said.

Yes, and what has the power to give life, also has the power to take life, Blakstar added, and that is precisely what it did.

Did you have any idea what would happen if you used this staff? Lidelle asked.

Both Tevvy and Blakstar shook their heads. We only knew, Blakstar said, that it would save Shigmar.

By destroying everyone? Lidelle said. "That seems to be an odd usage of the word, save."

You should speak to Thal, or my twin, Rokwolf said, since they both have a better understanding of these keys, as they have been called, but the sense I have gotten from both of them is that neither Shigmar, nor Melbarth, were sure about what the staff would do. Perhaps they believed that only our enemies would be destroyed by the staff.

Lidelle was shaking his head.

There is something else that happened, Blakstar said, "that we have not spoken about: we were captured by a company of purem," he went on, and explained to them what had happened and how they had been released by the vedem and the enigmatic warning of Neflo.

"The vedem? Lidelle said, looking surprised. Why would they set you free, tell you not to use the staff, then clear your way so that you could use it? That doesn’t make sense."

We were also surprised by their behavior, Blakstar noted.

Marilee and the rest of her squad walked up at that point. Still blocked, she said. And this one?

It is open, Tevvy said, and it sounded like no one was moving around.

Marilee turned to Reena. Go ahead, and if the way is clear, open the grate and we will all follow.

Reena nodded and climbed the ladder. All clear, her voice whispered, and they heard the grate being opened.

Let’s go, Marilee said.

Tevvy went up next, followed by Marilee and her squad; Blakstar and Rokwolf climbed up last. The air in this part of the city was nearly as dusty as the air below, and all was as silent. They could see the limit of the wave by the houses that had fallen.

Rokwolf touched Tevvy’s shoulder. We should go check my brother’s house, he said.

Marilee looked around. We’ll split into threes, and begin searching the city for survivors, heading toward the school.

The others nodded, split up, and then began to move in all directions, with Rokwolf, Tevvy, and Blakstar moving toward Klaybear and Klare’s house. The silence